


Wherever You're Going

by madmadeleine



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madmadeleine/pseuds/madmadeleine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard McCoy took the graveyard shift to escape his problems, but gets wrapped up in someone else's when Jim Kirk starts making regular ER visits. Somewhat AU, where Jim is in an abusive relationship with John Harrison and McCoy is his only way out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wherever You're Going

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot stress enough that this work contains domestic abuse and abusive relationships. If you are at all triggered by those things, read with caution or avoid this work entirely.

He takes the graveyard shift after the divorce. It may drain his energy and suck his soul dry, but at least he avoids spending time alone in his empty, dark apartment. Every night is usually the same, the parade of drunken, careless kids who seem to think they’re invincible. The motions of setting arms and stitching cuts become repetitive, and with every patient that comes through the doors, he can forget about his crap life and the fact that the only place he has to come back to is by no means a home.

 

One night, though, nobody comes rushing through the hospital doors clutching at a sprained wrist. The ER remains quiet, and so he decides to grab himself a cup of coffee. Just as he starts to pour, the intercom cracks to life.

“Doctor McCoy to ER.”

“Dammit,” he mutters as the coffee spills all over his sleeve. He jogs back to the waiting room, but stops dead when he sees the man at the desk.

 _He’s just a kid_ , McCoy thinks to himself as he walks over, even though the guy is clearly only a few years younger than he. There’s something in his eyes that screams vulnerability; that makes him look younger than his years.

The kid gives his name as Jim Kirk, and has a broken nose, a fractured wrist, and two cracked ribs. McCoy mutters something about drunken idiots as he leads Jim to the exam room.

“You really did a number on yourself, kid. What happened?”

Jim twists his face into a ghost of a smile. “Tiger fight,” he murmurs, but he won’t look at McCoy. “Don’t worry about it, doc, it was nothing. You _can_ fix my bones, though, right?”

He doesn’t buy it, not by a long shot, but all he can say is, “That _is_ my job, kid.”

 

Over the next few weeks, McCoy sees Jim a lot, much more than he’d like to. After the first time, Jim asks for “Doctor Bones” whenever he comes in. Even when he’s busy, Jim just waits patiently in those damned uncomfortable chairs. Jim would flash a cheeky grin and say, “Hey, Bones," despite McCoy’s constant complaining that “that’s not my name, kid.”

The injuries never decrease in severity, but they are never more obvious than they were the first night, often manifesting themselves in cuts and bruises to the back and chest. McCoy never asks, perhaps because he knows Jim won’t answer, but more likely because he doesn’t want to know.

For a few weeks, McCoy doesn’t see Jim. He was looking pretty bad last time, and McCoy can’t help but wonder if the damn kid got himself killed. He surprises himself by being entirely uncomfortable with the thought, and curses himself for getting emotionally invested in one of his patients in the first place. After a while, he gives up the late shift. Even the most exciting of patients can’t distract him from the memory of Jim’s swollen body and broken blue eyes.

 

The next week, he gets a call in the middle of the night from the hospital. Groaning as he rolls out of bed, he answers the phone with a colorful swear.

“Dammit, I’m not on the night shift anymore. Make Beverly deal with it.”

“Leonard, Jim Kirk is here, and he’s in a bad way. He won’t let anyone touch him, but he’s asking for you.”

He’s never gotten dressed so fast in his life.

Ten minutes later, McCoy strides into the ER to a sight that strips him of professionalism and leaves him unable to breathe. Jim sits in the corner of the room, legs tucked to his chest like a scared child. His head is bleeding, the blood matted in his hair and covering his cheek. His left eye is nearly swollen shut. A lone tear falls from his right.

Gently, McCoy helps Jim into the exam room and silently begins to clean the blood from his face. He doesn’t speak, but his hands tremble with unbridled rage for whoever has done this to Jim.

"He told me he loved me," Jim chokes out. McCoy kicks himself for not seeing it earlier, for not getting this kid some help. He waits for Jim to continue, though he’s not sure he has the strength to hear what Jim has to say.

"He didn’t always do this, you know. He told me he loved me and, and I think he meant it. But then he lost his job and he turned into, well.” Jim’s voice cracks. “A monster. Nothing I did was good enough, I wasn’t treating him right. I’d get him some coffee and if it was too weak, he’d punch me. I don’t know why I stay. It hurts being with him, but I love him so damn much, you know? And I just keep thinking that if I finally get it right, maybe he’ll love me again.”

Jim’s laugh is bitter, and feels like a punch to the stomach. “But I never do, and he never does, and the hits just keep coming. I’ve got nowhere else to go, so I stay.”

McCoy turns away from Jim to hide his shaking hands and the anger in his eyes. He’s seen domestic abuse before, but you don’t think of it happening to people you know. People you love. If he could, he would excuse himself and scream and cry and punch something until his anger was spent, until he could be a professional again.

But he can’t, because this isn’t about him. It’s about Jim, and so he turns around and tenderly takes Jim’s face in his hands.

“Listen to me, kid. You have to get out of there. It’s going to kill you.” _He’s going to kill you, soon enough._ “You have to get help.”

“Where am I supposed to go, Bones? My mom’s in Iowa, and I don’t exactly have a long list of friends. He’s all I’ve got.”

He’s not supposed to do this. This is breaking every damn rule he’s ever learned about doctor/patient relationships. He could get fired for this.

He doesn’t care.

“Listen, I’m not technically supposed to do this, but I have a couch until you find a place. Will this guy come after you?”

Relief floods into Jim’s eyes. “He left right after … everything, said he was leaving for a week until ‘I could learn to behave.’”

McCoy decides to ignore that last bit, and focus on the positive. “Let’s get you patched up then, kid.”

“You know, you’ve never actually called me Jim. I’m only a few years younger than you, anyway.”

He smiles, despite himself. “Fine. Jim.”

Once he’s done patching Jim up, they drive to the apartment in silence. If the nurses see them leaving together, they pretend not to notice. McCoy gives Jim a clean shirt and boxers and makes up the couch. Jim wraps the blanket around himself tightly, and McCoy pretends not to hear him crying.

 

In the early hours of the morning, Jim appears at the door of McCoy’s room.

“Hey Bones, can I… I just need….”

McCoy folds Jim into his arms without a word, and the two stay like that for a long, long time.

 

When the sun rises, too bright to ignore, they reluctantly get up and go out for breakfast. They don’t speak of last night, only light subjects like the weather. Jim is more happy and alive than McCoy’s ever seen him. He asks about McCoy’s life, why he wanted to be a doctor and how many years of training it took to get there. When he asks about the empty apartment, McCoy’s answer about the divorce is met with the perfect amount of sympathy and readiness to move on. Jim smiles, laughs, eats, and talks so enthusiastically and happily that McCoy wonders who this man is and what he’s done with the broken kid who was crying in his arms.

 _This is who Jim was before that asshole started beating him_ , McCoy thinks. _This is the real Jim Kirk, and I may be the first person in years to ever see this._ Without thinking about it, McCoy takes Jim’s hand and tells him that he’s welcome to stay as long as he likes, professionalism be damned.

The smile Jim gives him is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

 

They go back to Jim’s apartment the next day to collect his things.  There seems to be no sign of the boyfriend, but Jim is visibly tense, periodically glancing towards the door. McCoy gives him space, and tries not to look at the small bloodstain on the corner of the bookcase by the door.

Suddenly, the door opens violently, and McCoy’s heart jumps into his throat. A dark-haired man storms inside, and shouts, “Jim? Who the hell is this?”

Jim runs into the room, shaking like a leaf. McCoy calmly holds up his hands, quietly stepping in between Jim and the boyfriend. The boyfriend shoves him aside, and grabs Jim by the collar.

“Have you been cheating on me, you little slut?”

“John, no, no I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t ever, please, please don’t…”

And it is that moment, seeing the utter fear in Jim’s eyes, where McCoy loses all control. He punches John in the face, sending him flying backwards. Jim grabs his things and sprints to the car.

“Listen here, you little shit,” McCoy whispers in John’s ear. “If you ever come near Jim again, I will kill you. I will. I’m a doctor, after all, I can make it look like an accident.”

“He’s mine,” John snarls.

McCoy rises, suddenly ashamed of the threats he’d made. He’s no better than this scum, if he does that. He’s going to do this the right way, the smart way, with lawyers and restraining orders and involving anyone he has to.

“Not anymore,” he calls behind him as he leaves, slamming the door behind him.

 

Jim doesn’t let go of McCoy’s hand until they return to the apartment. He surveys the place, with the broken furniture and grey walls and the memories of the wife who left. He turns to Jim, whose impossibly blue eyes are filled with hope. The two don’t go together.

“Don’t unpack, Jim. We’re leaving,” McCoy says, and Jim kisses him full on the mouth. “I’m going to get fired anyway, might as well start completely fresh.” Jim laughs, the sound beautiful and clear. He could listen to that laugh for the rest of his life, and if he has anything to say about it, he will.

He clears his throat. “But, we’re leaving, not running. We have to deal with John…”

“Harrison,” Jim mutters.

“I have to report him, legally and morally. Your hospital records will likely be enough, but you may have to testify.”

“I can’t, Bones.”

“He has to pay for what he did to you. But we won’t talk about that now.” McCoy enfolds Jim in his arms. “For now, let’s just go.”

Together, they pack up the few things that McCoy cares about, and get in the car.

“Where to?” McCoy asks. Jim simply smiles and shrugs.

“Wherever you're going,” he replies. McCoy just smiles, kisses Jim long and slow, and starts driving.

 


End file.
